Come To The Dark Side We Have James Moriarty
by Lady Sayna
Summary: Jim visits Molly after the pool. Series 2 AU.


This is for Emily who now has to update her stories.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock the characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the show to Gatiss and Moffat.

This was written mostly before series 2 so it is an AU, just pretend the bomb when off.

Come To The Dark Side We Have Jame Moriarty

It's 1:37 in the morning when her mobile rings. She should be asleep, has work the next day, but her book is too good to put down. So when the mobile bursts into song it gives her a jolt but not as much as it would have had she been asleep.

She picks it up off the nightstand. Toby meowing at her as her shifting in bed awakens the cat. "Sorry." she mumbles as she reads the caller ID. DI Lestrade flashes on the screen. It is not usual for the DI to call her but never this late. Her heart clenches in her chest. Had something happened?

Flipping open the phone she tentatively says. "Hello."

"Molly?" Greg Lestrade's voice sounds in her ear.

"Yes."

"This is Lestrade." She wants to say 'of course it is' but the tone of his voice stops her. He sounds different, concerned. For her? A chill runs down her spine and she pulls the covers of her bed up to her chin.

"Yes." She said instead.

"Something has happened."

She doesn't remember hanging up. Actually she doesn't remember most of the conversation. But she got the gist of it. Sherlock and John had been in an explosion. Both were okay, or would be after a day or so in hospital. The word 'pool' kept coming up but she must have heard wrong. Why would they be at a pool in the middle of the night? But Sherlock did get up to a lot of weird stuff so maybe this was on par.

That part of the conversation had made some sense. But then Lestrade had asked about Jim. Her boyfriend Jim. Had she seen him in the last two hours? Had he called or texted? She had said no. Then demanded (no, that was a lie, she asked nicely) what was going on.

Then it all came out. How apparently Jim, her Jim, was the bomber. How he had kidnapped John, and all the others. Strapped them to bombs. (She tried to block out the fact that one of the bombs did explode, 12 people died.) Had made then play games.

No.

Had made Sherlock play games. It was all about Sherlock.

Amidst her shock a small part of her was annoyed. Must everything revolve around Sherlock Holmes?

Lestrade had called to tell her. And to make sure she was okay. (Still alive?) Sherlock had said Jim (no, Moriarty) wouldn't see her again. How she had just been a pawn to get to him. A flicker of anger in her rose at that. She was more than just a tool thank you very much.

She tells Lestrade that she hasn't seen or heard from Jim. Not since that morning. And yes of course she will call if he contacts her. Then they end the call but she continues to clutch her mobile in her hand.

She can't wrap her head around it. Doesn't want to believe this is real. There must be some mistake.

It can't be her Jim. Not the Jim who watched Glee with her. Or the Jim who laughed as Toby licked his cheek. Or the Jim who know how she liked her coffee and brought her one every morning.

This has to be some nightmare and she will wake up tomorrow and everything will be fine.

But sleep eludes her. Toby gets annoyed with all her restless moving and jumps out of bed. She doesn't even bother turning off her light she just stares blankly at the celling wishing she had never gotten that phone call.

It is at 3:32 that she hears her flat door open. She knows she locked her door. She also knows will absolute certainty who it there. Did he break in? Or did he have a key? Terror freezes her. Ice runs through her veins and she shivers uncontrollably.

Footsteps, that sound so loud in the quiet night, reach her ears. Tumbling out of bed she reaches for the nearest thing. Her lamp. It is small but made of some metal her brain can't seem to remember right now. But it weights a bit, maybe with enough force she could knock him out. She starts towards her bedroom door but only gets two feet when she has to stop. The lamp was still plugged in. Hastily bending down she unplugs it. Luckily she still had the light on the ceiling on or she would be in the dark.

She stands up and turns to the door.

And screams.

In her hast to get a weapon she didn't hear the bedroom door being pushed open, it hadn't been shut properly so Toby could come and go.

Jim Moriarty is standing three feet away from her.

He's wearing a high end suit. She has never seen him wear one; he usually was clad in t-shirts and jeans. It makes him appear older. The suit doesn't look as if it had been in an explosion. Had he changed before coming to find her? There is a large scratch on his face. The only proof any of it was real.

She can't help compare herself to him. He looked poised and confident. His hands are in his pockets and he smiles widely at her. This is a Jim she can see as the bomber. She must look so small and scared next to him dressed in Hello Kitty PJs, her hair tied in a messy ponytail. Her arms were trembling and her heart was pounding loud in her ears.

Besides the suit something is different about him. It takes her a second to realize what it is.

His smile.

Or more specifically his eyes when he smiled.

They were cold and dark. The kind of eyes that could set off a bomb and feel no remorse. She shivered as he locked eyes with her.

"Hello my dear." He purrs, his Irish accent very pronounced.

"Get out." She yells trying and failing to sound intimidating. Molly brandished the lamp hoping to scare him. He looks amused at her pathetic attempt at intimidation.

"Do you know why I choose you?" He suddenly inquires out of the blue.

She wonders why he would ask. The answer is obvious. "My connection to Sherlock."

"No." A simple word but startling.

She falters, lowering the lamp slightly.

"Yes. You choose me because Sherlock comes to me for body parts, and access to the morgue. And information he is not supposed to have. Because I can't say no to him." She isn't even speaking to Jim anymore. Her voice gets quieter and quieter as she goes on.

He smiles kindly at her, it freaks her out. "If I had only wanted Sherlock Holmes I wouldn't have needed you. Sherlock is terribly easy to find and understand."

"Sherlock has changed." She says defiantly. She had seen it, little by little. The way he asked, in a condescending voice still, for body parts to experiment on instead of demanding. He doesn't text after midnight unless she is working.

"Yes." She is surprised he will admit it. "He has changed. He's grown a heart." his face twists into a sneer at the last word. "But we both know it is not because of you. Or for you."

She feels a stab in the vicinity of her own heart. 'The truth hurts' she thinks to herself. Sherlock had indeed changed. But not for her. For Dr. John Watson. Molly wants to be angry at the doctor but he is so kind and so good that she can't help but like him. Which makes it harder to see the two of them together.

"He doesn't even see you." She flinches at his words, shrinking on into herself.

"But I see you." She suddenly realizes that he is so much closer. As they had talked he had been inching closer and closer to her.

"No you used me. You didn't care about me." Her voice trembles and she can feel her eyes tear up.

"I always cared about you Molly." Jim tells her gently.

She hates herself for the way her heart flutters in her chest. The need to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved.

"But you kill people!" Molly practically cries out.

"I'm a consulting criminal. It is just part of the job." His hand reaches out and cups her cheek. "Does it really matter what I do? Nothing has to change."

_It should matter_ she thinks but she finds it hard when he is so close to her. She feels as if she already lost the fight. Her phone is still in her bed, she could have call Lestrade immediately but didn't. She wanted her Jim back and now he is offering it to her. And she wants it so bad.

"I want you on my side." He tells her, gently stroking her cheek. His fingers are cold against her flushed skin. "We could do so much together."

He leans forward pressing his lips to hers. She does not kiss back, no matter how much she wants, but she doesn't push him away either. The kiss is quick but strangely sweet on his part.

The lamp tumbles to the floor from her unresponsive hand.

"So," he pauses for a second looking so deep into her eyes she is sure he can see her soul. "What do you say?"

It should take her longer to response. Actually her immediate reaction should be no. She should push him away and call the police and never think about him again. But her skin tingles from his touch and he is staring directly at her. Not through her, not around her but right at her.

And she wants that. Someone to see her. Someone who wants her for her. And so she makes a decision that will change her life indefinitely.

This time it is her who closes the distance. Her lips finding his. Crossing over into the dark side.

And it feels wonderful.


End file.
